


Honesty

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, Compromise, Confessions, Difference, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John admits to having romantic feelings for Sherlock, but it’s a tricky situation when Sherlock reveals he really doesn’t feel things the same way. Can a compromise be found?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Reveals His Secret

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_You're needed at the flat please. SH_

Sherlock hit Send and desperately tried to think of the reason he'd give when John came rushing home, irritated at having yet another date interrupted. Of course, Sherlock assured himself, most of the mid-date requests he'd sent had perfectly reasonable motivations behind them. But this time Sherlock realised that the only reason he was sending the text is because he wanted John home with him.

This, he knew, was entirely selfish. However, being selfish was not new or surprising. Sherlock had pretty much been selfish all his life. At the same time, though, ever since John had come into his world, Sherlock had been trying to treat him . . . well, like a friend, rather than a person whose sole purpose was to do whatever Sherlock needed. Sherlock had been trying not to be so selfish.

And that was new and surprising. There was clearly something special about John, though Sherlock made an effort not to overthink it. Feelings were so confusing to him, and being confused was stressful. He could be thinking about why it was so important to have John here right now or about why he was jealous of the women that John went out with or why he liked just being able to look up and see John's handsome face across the room. He could be thinking about those things, but those things involved feelings, so instead he stood up and put on the kettle, thinking only about what reason he'd give when John stormed into the flat. 

John felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he felt two things at once -- annoyance and excitement. He felt the annoyance first, a split second of wondering why Sherlock insisted on bothering him every time he went on a date. But then, if he were being really honest, he had been waiting for it. He had sat down at this dinner with his phone in a noticeable pocket so that when Sherlock texted, he would feel it. Lately he had found himself missing Sherlock even just when he was at work. He'd gone on dates a bit reluctantly, wondering what Sherlock was doing at home alone. But that was . . . well, he couldn't exactly let on. So as much as he wanted to ditch his date and hurry home, he texted back, putting up a bit of a fight. 

_I'm on a date, Sherlock. What is it? -JW_

_I know you're on a date, John. I watched you mess with your hair in the mirror, something you only seem to do before you go on dates. If you're not going to come back, that's one thing, but please do not insult my powers of observation and deduction. I've cleaned the wound anyway, so I guess you can just forget about the request. SH_

A very selfish reply, Sherlock thought as he hit Send, but at the moment, he was unconcerned: he just wanted John to come home.

John read the message twice. "Wound?" he murmured, making his date stop talking and look at him curiously. John looked up at her and apologised, asking for a moment. 

_What wound? What happened? -JW_

Sherlock smiled a little.

_It's nothing. I'm fine. Enjoy your date. Since she's so incredibly important to you. SH_

He got out two mugs and waited.

John sighed. Deep down he knew that Sherlock wasn't hurt. But there was enough doubt that John didn't feel comfortable staying. He made a lame excuse and, after a small argument, he was headed home. He didn't even bother texting back -- he had nothing to say. He knew he was falling right into whatever plan Sherlock had concocted to get him away from his date. Again. He should be more upset about this, but he was used to this now. He could tell himself one day he'd stand up for himself and refuse to come home, but even he knew that was an empty promise. When he walked into the flat, he sighed as he hung his jacket. "I hope you're proud of yourself," he said. 

Sherlock carried over a mug of tea to John. "I usually am," he said. "I'm glad you're home," he added awkwardly and sat down on his chair, crossing his legs and taking a sip of tea. He stared down into his mug. 

John watched him for a moment before moving to sit in his own chair. "So, imaginary wound, then?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, holding up his hand. "All better now, it appears." He looked up. "So what should we do this evening?"

"You can't be serious," John said, looking over at him. For some reason Sherlock's casual attitude was now making him a bit angry. "Why did you call me home from another date?" he asked. 

"Because I was bored," Sherlock said, taking another sip of tea. "And because I missed you." He stared down at his mug again.

John opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was an exasperated sigh. "Well, you have me home now. So what do you want to do?"

"Something fun, please," Sherlock said. "The hour you were gone was almost intolerably dull. Let's do something fun." He set his mug down. "We could dissect something," he offered.

"Do you have something to dissect?" John asked, sipping at his tea. 

"We could go find a cat or something," Sherlock said. "Or you could make a suggestion instead."

"We're not going to dissect a cat from outside!" John said. "I thought you had something here. Why don't we just go for a walk?"

"That's a brilliant idea, John," Sherlock said. He stood up and put his mug in the sink, before moving to his coat and scarf. "Perhaps we could stop at a cafe since you left me with no dinner to eat."

"Oh please. Now you want to eat something?" John rolled his eyes. He smiled softly and shook his head as he got up. 

"Where'd you go for dinner? You never take me to nice places. It's always Chinese takeaway or leftovers. . ." Sherlock said as they walked down the stairs.

"We went to a nice little Italian place. And I never take you there because we don't date." John glanced back at him before going out to the pavement. 

"You have to be dating someone to care about their health?" Sherlock asked. "Actually, that makes me feel even worse -- you don't even seem to like half of the women you date, yet their nutritional needs are more important than mine? You're horrible."

"Sorry, but I try to feed you all the time and you refuse. That's not my fault."

"Fine, it's my fault. Everything's my fault. Are you happy now?" Sherlock asked.

"Don't be cross. That's the truth. You know that I care about you," John said. He nudged his arm lightly and smiled.

"You do take care of me, John," Sherlock said, looking forward. "I wonder why I let you do that." 

John looked over at him. "Let me? Imagine if you put up a struggle," he teased. 

"If you think I struggle against you, ask my mother how I react when she tries to look after me," Sherlock said. "There must be some reason I tolerate you . . ." John had no idea probably, but this may have been the sweetest thing that Sherlock had ever said to anyone.

John raised his brows a bit before looking ahead. "Well, I suppose I should thank you for tolerating me." He knew that was odd -- he should be offended -- but as it had come from Sherlock, he knew that it meant something, different than if an ordinary person had said the same thing. 

Sherlock motioned with his head towards the corner. "Can we stop in and get a drink? It's colder out here than I was expecting." He moved to the cafe and opened the door for John.

"Yeah," John nodded. "They have good food here, if you want to eat."

Sherlock waited for a table and once they'd sat down, he flicked through the menu. "When you go out on dates, do you order for the woman? That seems like the kind of thing you might do, which may explain why you rarely get second dates," he said, staring down at his options.

"I don't get second dates because I can hardly stick around long enough for the first one," he said pointedly. "And no, I don't order for anyone but myself." He lifted the menu up to cover his face, looking through the options. 

Sherlock closed his menu, ignoring the comment about his interruptions. "Well, will you order for me, please?" he asked.

"I don't know what you want. And with my luck I will pick something you hate and have to hear about how I am out to starve you or something." He peeked out over his menu and raised his brows lightly, smiling before disappearing again. 

"What are you ordering?" Sherlock asked. "For yourself, I mean?"

"The club sandwich," John said, finally putting his menu down. "What would you like?"

"I'll have that as well," Sherlock said. "And to drink?"

"Just some tea -- it'll be a nice warm up for the walk back," John said. 

"That's what I want also," Sherlock said, closing his menu and pushing it aside. "So what should we talk about?"

"Well, if you're really sure, I will order for you when she comes back. And let's talk about what you did all day," he said. 

"Okay, you can order," Sherlock said. "I spent most of the day at the library and then I went into speak to Lestrade and then I came home right as you were fussing with your hair and heading out for your date. I went down and had a cup of tea with Mrs Hudson since you'd abandoned me and then I got that imaginary wound. That's pretty much how I spent my day."

John sighed softly. "Why didn't you just tell me not to leave? I mean . . .why let me go all the way out just to call me back?" 

"I don't have any right to tell you not to go on dates, John. If that's what you want to do, why should I stop you?" Sherlock asked.

"But you do stop me --" He broke off to order for the both of them before looking at Sherlock again. "You do stop me, and it's a bigger ordeal than it has to be." 

"I don't stop you," Sherlock said, looking at him. "I never force you to end a date."

"Oh no -- do not turn this around on me, Sherlock. It's always something -- a case, an injury -- always!" Of course, this was only eighty percent true, but Sherlock didn't have to know that. 

"A case is not my fault, John," Sherlock said calmly. "If you don't want me to call you for cases, I won't." He didn't bother acknowledging the whole injury point, since yes, truthfully, imaginary injuries shouldn't really count. "I just like to keep you abreast of what's going on with work or with the flat. Excuse me if that's a problem for you."

"It's not -- never mind. I don't want to talk about that anymore," he said. "Did Lestrade give you a case when you went to speak with him?"

"No, I was just checking in with him because something he said the other day had been bothering me and I wanted to correct him. It was ultimately irrelevant, but it was annoying me and I wanted to clear it up," Sherlock said. "Did you have a good day at work, by the way?" 

"It was all right -- nothing unusual," John said. The food came and he pulled his plate closer, digging in. "I suppose it's not fair to blame you completely. You know, for my coming home . . ."  

"No, it's probably not fair, but I won't make a big deal about it as I'm too good of a person," Sherlock said. He smiled. "I won't bother you on your dates anymore . . . I'll try not to."

"What I mean is . . . I don't really mind it so much," John said, busying himself with eating so he wouldn't have to look at Sherlock. Married to his work -- that's what he had said. This was a dangerous road, but maybe they would just move on now. 

"So am I supposed to stop or not? Why don't you just stop going out and cut out the middleman? Or woman, in this case?" Sherlock asked, biting into his sandwich. "This is kind of disgusting, John."

"For the same reason you don't just tell me not to go in the first place," John said. "And I think it's delicious -- you can pick something else if you want." 

"Stop going out with women, John," Sherlock said, trying another bite.

John stared at Sherlock for what seemed like an eternity of a minute. "Okay," he said simply. 

"Good, that's sorted," Sherlock said. He opened the sandwich and took out the cheese and ate it.

John continued eating. "Does that mean I can go out with you?" he asked bravely. 

"What do you mean? I've not gone out a date once since you moved in the flat," Sherlock said.

"I know. I mean . . .I want to go out with you instead of women."  

"Are you saying this is more fun than your date earlier? If that's the case, I no longer feel any guilt about texting you. It sounds like I was actually doing you a favour," Sherlock said.

John sighed, waiting for Sherlock to understand what he meant. "I mean romantically, Sherlock."

"What?" Sherlock said awkwardly. "I mean, I heard the words you said . . . I just am not sure what you mean."

"I want to go out with you. On a romantic date." 

"Right," Sherlock said. "And what precisely would that entail?"

"Us dating -- being in a relationship," John said. He was watching Sherlock closely, waiting for the moment he was going to remind John that he was married to his work and that he didn't do this sort of thing.  

"Again, John, could you explain a little more precisely? Dating to you seems like going out to dinner. We're out to dinner right now -- so is that what you mean?" Sherlock said. "I need you to be more precise. Please." His face was a bit embarrassed by just how sincere he was being.

"Well, it's more than just eating dinner," John said, looking down at his tea now. "Flirting, sentiment . . .physical things . . ." 

"There's already sentiment, isn't there? I mean, it's not something I'm very comfortable or confident with so I mainly try not to think about it, but it's there, isn't it?"

"Not like -- I mean, there's some sentiment because we're friends but I'm talking about . . .romantic stuff."

"Is that how you see us? Just friends?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes but . . .I'm asking for more," John said. He looked up, wondering if he wasn't being clear enough.  

"I don't feel like we're just friends, John," Sherlock said. "I don't really do friends, but I do know that whatever is between us isn't normal. For friends, I mean."

"I -- what?" John asked, a bit confused. He felt like he lost control of the conversation. Had Sherlock thought they were dating this whole time? "I want to be . . . boyfriends," he said. 

"Can we continue this conversation at home?" Sherlock said very suddenly and very awkwardly. He pushed his plate away from him a little.

John flushed lightly and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Of course." He pulled out his wallet and put money on the table for the both of them. 


	2. On One Condition

"Thanks for dinner," Sherlock said, standing up and slipping his coat and scarf on. He grabbed John's elbow as they walked out. Once on the pavement, he said, "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to be abrupt. You know these types of things are hard for me to talk about. I'd just feel better doing it at home. Talking, I mean."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you don't want to make this any more than it is, I understand," John said. Now that he was no longer confused, he was slipping into being embarrassed. 

"Shush now," Sherlock said, looping his arm through John's. "Didn't we just say we're going to talk about this at home?"

"Right, sorry," John nodded. He fell into step with Sherlock and just looked around the street as they walked.

Sherlock unlocked the door and followed John up. He put the kettle on, rinsing out their two cups, and brought fresh tea into the sitting room. He sat down in his chair, put his feet up on the table, and looked over at John. "I have feelings for you that I think are more than friends . . . as you said . . . like boyfriend feelings, I imagine. And I suppose I do mean imagine, as I've not had these feelings before so perhaps I'm wrong . . . but I think that's probably what's been going on. But . . . I'm afraid I can't really give you what the women give you."

John held his cup in both hands, looking at his tea until Sherlock finished speaking. "I don't understand . . . now I need you to be more clear. What can't you give me?"

Sherlock looked down awkwardly. "Sex-related things," he said softly.

"Oh. We don't . . . I mean . . .we can do that later," John murmured. "We can just date and see where it goes before that."

"No," Sherlock said. "I mean, I don't think I'll ever be able to give you that. I'm sorry . . ." He felt so stupid now, almost wishing he'd never been honest with John or himself about his feelings.

John wished he could move closer -- maybe hold his hand or something -- but it didn't feel like the best idea given the conversation. He didn't understand: Sherlock had practically thought they were dating already and he seemed happy to keep that up -- the dinners and being together and monogamous -- but he didn't want anything physical. "Is it me?" he asked stupidly, wondering if Sherlock liked him but didn't find him attractive.

"Of course, it's not you," Sherlock said. "It's me. I don't . . . I-I just . . . don't."

John looked over at him again and nodded. "Um . . . I'd still like to be with you."

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said again. "I'm afraid I'll just disappoint you . . ."

John felt his stomach twist. "You don't want to try at all?" he asked quietly.

"I like it how it is, John," Sherlock said. "Except for when you go out with women. I don't like that. I don't want you to ever be around anyone but me." He couldn't meet John's eyes. "But I know that's not fair."

"But that's what dating is -- I mean, just being with each other. We don't have to have sex," John said.

"Don't we do that anyway -- 'be with each other'? And are you really saying you'd date someone -- anyone -- without the sex business being a possibility at some point?" Sherlock said, finally looking up. "You have to be honest, John."

"I mean I won't go out on dates and we don't have to have sex. We can cuddle and hold hands and such. I just might . . . wank once in a while," he admitted.

Sherlock tried to smile and then his face went funny. "Wait -- do you mean when I'm there, you're going to do it in front of me?" he asked. He shifted a little in his chair.

"I -- well, not if it makes you uncomfortable," John said.

Sherlock lifted his hands to cover his face. "This is so awkward, John," he said quietly. "I don't know how any of this will work except that I'm totally convinced you will end up disappointed." He rested his elbows on his knees, trying to take a few deep breaths. "This is all so . . . natural for you, John, but . . . it's just not for me. I'm sorry . . ."

John nodded. He tried to imagine getting himself off while Sherlock watched. "I don't know, Sherlock. We don't have to do any of this. I'm sorry . . . "

"I want to try but I don't know how to be," Sherlock said quietly. "What should we do?"

John looked over at him. "I don't know, Sherlock. Why don't we just see how it goes."

"All right," Sherlock said. "We can try." He looked over at John and tried to give him a little smile. He was so worried about hurting John, about letting him down.

"Do you want to start now? We can cuddle and watch some telly," John murmured.

"All right," Sherlock said again. "We can try . . ." He stood up and walked over and sat awkwardly next to John. "Look . . . I feel like I should say one more thing. It's not that I've just never done any sex things. I haven't really, but that's not the issue. It's just that . . . I don't really have those urges. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about that now, okay?" John moved to the sofa as well, curling up beside him. "Is this okay?"

"Yes, this is good," Sherlock said. "I've thought about this before -- sometimes when we were sitting close together." He took a deep breath and tried to relax a little.

"We don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with," John assured him.

"The problem I'm uncomfortable with most of the things you want to do," Sherlock said. "I mean the things people want to do . . . in situations like this."

John shifted and sat up, away and off of Sherlock. He'd been prepared for no sex, but not even touching? This was going to be tricky. "Just do what you feel comfortable with, okay? Even if it's nothing."

"I liked it, John," Sherlock said, reaching over and pulling on his arm to bring him back. "I know you said not to think about the other stuff, but if you were on a normal date, on the sofa like this, you know you'd be thinking about the other stuff. That's what dates are like, aren't they?"

"Sometimes," John said, lying on him again. "But I know you don't want that so I'm not thinking about it with you. Maybe a little, but I've been doing that for a while. It's okay that we're not . . ." When he went to bed later, he was going to have to do some research.

Sherlock set his hand on John's side. "I'm glad you live in this flat with me," he said, sure that it was an incredibly stupid thing to say aloud but it was what he was thinking and one hundred per cent true.

John covered his hand and held it lightly. "I'm glad that I live here, too. I'm glad you live here with me."

Sherlock stared at the television for a little bit. This was nice. John's body was warm against him and it made him feel warm -- literally and in his heart, too. He guessed this must be what love like felt like. "It's good," Sherlock whispered.

John smiled softly. "It is good -- I'm glad you like this," he murmured. 

They lay there together on the sofa, watching the end of a film. When the credits rolled, Sherlock said, "What do we do now?"

"We can watch something else or we can go to bed . . . are you sleepy?" John asked. 

"I think . . . maybe I'll go to bed now," Sherlock said, though he didn't make a move just yet. "This has been a good date, John. It's my first one ever and it was a very good one."

"Can I kiss your cheek?" John asked quietly, getting up and turning to face Sherlock.

"Is that what you usually do?" Sherlock said, smiling. "No, wait, don't answer. Yeah, that's okay." He kind of held out his cheek a little, waiting.

John smiled widely and kissed his cheek softly. "Thank you for a lovely date. Good night, Sherlock." He backed up, heading for the stairs. 

"Good night, John," Sherlock said, still sitting on the sofa until he heard John's bedroom door close. He stood up slowly, got himself a glass of water and went into his own bedroom. He changed into his pajamas and got into bed. 

He stared up at the ceiling thinking. Nothing that had happened this evening was something that Sherlock was expecting. Normally, that was frustrating, but Sherlock felt strangely okay about what had gone on. He closed his eyes, hoping that no doubts would ruin that feeling.

John got ready for bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. The night had turned out completely different than John had been expecting--everything seemed to have spiraled a bit out of control but it was good. He felt good. He hoped this worked out. 

Sherlock rolled over on his side -- his mind was still going. He thought about the sex-related stuff. He wondered if this would mean he would start wanting sex. He never had before, never understood the desire. He'd had orgasms before, having tried masturbation in his teens and occasionally as an adult, but to him, that was just something else the body did, and he couldn't understand the constant chasing of sexual experiences. He knew that's what John wanted: the fussing with his hair, the changing of his clothes, the long showers before dates -- all these things were motivated by the fact that John hoped to end the date with sex. That wouldn't be an option if John were dating Sherlock, and he worried that would leave John perpetually unsatisfied. Sherlock wished the cuddling would be enough for John, like it was enough for him. Because it had been lovely.

Sherlock got out of bed and walked up to John's room. He tapped on the door lightly. "Can I come in, please?" he asked. 

John jumped lightly and looked over at the door. "Sherlock? Sure, come in," he said quietly. He sat up and rubbed his face a bit.

Sherlock opened the door but didn't step in yet. "I want to cuddle some more," he said quietly.

John made to move and then paused, holding the covers. "On the sofa or in here?" He asked softly.

"Here, please," Sherlock said moving over to stand at the end of John's bed.

"Oh, yeah," John nodded, pulling the covers back to expose the other side of the bed. "Come on," he smiled softly.

Sherlock slid under the covers and turned on his side to face John. "Is this okay . . . I mean, to cuddle lying down in the bed?"

John lay down on his own side but he didn't touch Sherlock yet. "Yeah, it's okay. It can be really comfortable," he said.

Sherlock scooted a bit closer and tucked his head against John's chest. He didn't know quite what to do with his hands so he left them at his side for now.

John pet his hair softly. "If you turn around I can spoon you," he said quietly into Sherlock's hair. 

"All right," Sherlock said, rolling over. He pulled John's arm around him and held John's hand.

John scooted close and pressed his body to Sherlock's, wrapping an arm around his belly lightly. He lay his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. "Is this okay?"

"Yes, it's nice," Sherlock said. "It kind of feels . . . natural, I guess."

John smiled softly and closed his eyes. He felt warm, but he kept himself slightly distracted so he wouldn't get aroused. He didn't want to ruin this or scare Sherlock away.

"Do you think things will be different between us tomorrow?" Sherlock asked.

"Maybe. But it doesn't have to be bad different," John murmured.

"I hope it isn't," Sherlock said. He was already a bit worried, but he tried not to think of that and concentrate instead of feeling warm next to John. "Can I sleep in here, please?"

"I was hoping you would," John admitted. 

Sherlock stroked John's hand a little as he closed his eyes. "Good night again, John," he said sleepily.

"Good night, Sherlock," John murmured, closing his eyes again and sighing softly. He was happy and comfortable.

Sherlock slept for a while. He woke up a few times, forgetting and then remembering where he was, before drifting off again.

John didn't sleep very deeply, his mind aware that something was going on that required caution. When Sherlock moved he woke up, waited until he settled, and then slept again. It was the best uncomfortable night John had ever had. 


	3. A Proper Date

In the morning, Sherlock woke up properly and rolled a little away from John. His body was a bit stiff from staying in the same position -- normally he tossed and turned and often got up and out of bed throughout the night. "John," he whispered. "I'm awake now. Are you?"

John jumped slightly again and opened his eyes. Sherlock. He smiled and nodded. "I'm awake," he murmured. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did," Sherlock said, smiling. "Did you?" He put his hand up to rest lightly on John's chest.

"Yeah, I did," John nodded. He smiled softly again.

"What are we going to do today? This? I mean, just cuddling?" Sherlock asked.

"I have to go to work for a little bit," John said. "Do you want to go on another date tonight?"

Sherlock frowned a little. He wished John didn't have to go to work, but he always wished that and knew enough not to pout too much. "Do you think I can handle two dates in a row?" he said, trying to make a smile instead.

John met his gaze and smiled. "I think you can," he nodded.

"Do you think you can?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I think I can too," John smiled. He sat up and stretched, petting Sherlock's head once before getting up to find clothes.

"Two dates in a row without any sex, though?" Sherlock asked.

John paused and looked over at him. "Sherlock, I know that this is different. You are not like anyone else I've ever dated -- and not just because of the no sex. I just feel differently about you. I don't mind no sex because I get to be with you, okay?"

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll try to remember. But it'll be hard while you are so far away at work . . ." he added, smiling stupidly.

John grinned. "I will text you whenever I have a free second." 

Sherlock pulled himself up. "I don't mean it. Don't treat me like a baby. It'll just make me feel . . . I don't know, but don't be too different, okay?"

"You usually text me when I'm at work," John said. "One second." He went into the bathroom, washed up and brushed his teeth and then came back into the room. "I can't help being a little different."

"I know but you usually text me back, telling me not to annoy you," Sherlock said. "Do that if you want. Don't go all . . . sweet."

"But I want to be sweet," John pouted playfully. 

"We'll see. . . ." Sherlock said. He stretched a little and got up. "I wonder how I should spend my day."

John put on his deodorant and headed down to the kitchen to make some tea and find something for breakfast. "Maybe you'll have a case?"

"Maybe," Sherlock said. He went into his room and put his dressing gown on. He came out and picked up the mug of tea John had made for him. "Thanks for this," he said. He moved over to his desk and checked his email. "No case," Sherlock said. "I'll be bored all day. When did you say you were coming home?"

"I get out at three today," he said. "Short day." He sipped at his tea and waited for his toast. "Maybe try my blog?"

"Probably not," Sherlock said. "It's likely to annoy me." He looked up from his tea and smiled. "I'll find something to do."

"Okay. I have to go now," John said, wrapping his toast in a napkin and heading towards the door. "See you later."

Sherlock stood up abruptly. "Should we kiss goodbye?" he said a little awkwardly.

"Do you want to?" John asked, pausing and smiling softly at him. He didn't know if he should have offered or not -- he was so worried about making Sherlock uncomfortable. 

"I think like last night would be okay," he said. He dropped his head and turned his cheek towards John.

John smiled wider and nodded. He leaned up a bit and kissed his cheek, lingering a bit before pulling away. "Will you kiss me?" he asked, turning his cheek a bit. 

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John's cheek. He could feel his own face go red, but he wasn't sure quite why. "There," he said. "We're even now." He touched John's arm and sat down on the sofa.

"Even," John nodded. "I'll see you soon." He left, eating as he walked to the surgery. When he got in he saw the first few patients and checked his phone each time they were coming in and out. No messages yet. When it slowed down in the middle of the day, he went online to find out more about what was going on with Sherlock. He found several websites on asexuality, and slowly he began to understand a bit more. Everyone was different and the best thing to do was to let Sherlock tell him what he wanted and didn't want. He would deal with his own physical needs as he had to. When he took his lunch he broke and pulled out his phone. 

_How are you doing? -JW_

Sherlock had spent most of the morning reading through the newspapers, looking for cases that he could either get himself involved in or solve on his own and feel smug about it. There really wasn't much. He eventually showered and got dressed. When he came out to make himself another cup of tea, he heard his phone go and smiled when he saw the message from John.

_I am thoroughly bored. Have you seen any intriguing injuries or have they all been nasal congestion complaints? SH_

_They have all been boring as well. Maybe I'll sneak out and come home. -JW_

He had almost typed out for Sherlock to come to his office where they could lock the door while he was on break, but then remembered that type of flirting was likely to push Sherlock away from him. But sneaky adventures -- that type of flirting might be okay. He was going to get this right and he was going to make this work, even if it was so different. 

_Don't do that. Be a good doctor and I'll see you at 3. SH_

Of course, Sherlock wished John would leave work and come home, but truthfully he had wished that almost everyday since they first met. He didn't want everything to immediately be different because of their talk and the cuddling last night. He took his tea into his room, sprawled out on the bed and went back to reading the book he'd started yesterday before all of this had happened.

_If you insist. I have a patient so I will return shortly. -JW_

John went back to seeing patients and thought about what Sherlock was doing at home all by himself. Not that this was the first time he had thought about this; he always wondered what Sherlock was doing at home alone because he was a bit dangerous when he was bored. 

Sherlock looked at his phone and then set it back on the table. He went back to his book, but his mind was actually on last night's cuddling. It made his face feel warm. He set the book down and looked up at the ceiling. The thought of being close to John actually made Sherlock's whole body feel warm. Was this sexual desire?

He closed his eyes and rested his hand on his lap. He tried to imagine it was John's hand. He took a few deep breaths, opened his trousers and slid his hand around his soft cock. He thought about what that made him feel, and the answer was . . . kind of nothing. His hand, John's hand -- neither thought really produced much of a reaction in his mind. He gave himself a few strokes and was pretty sure he was even getting a little hard. But still -- he didn't really _feel_ anything about it. It certainly wasn't bad or upsetting; it was just the same as if he had been scratching his hand and the skin turned red. Any erection was just his body's reaction to the movement -- not his brain's reaction to desire.

He zipped his trousers back up and turned on his side. He wondered why he was like this. It never really bothered him much in the past -- he had actually been glad he wasn't distracted by physical needs or desires. But now he worried; those things were important to John, and he didn't want John to be hurt by the fact that Sherlock didn't feel the same.

After his last patient John pulled his phone out again, texting Sherlock that he was on his way and wondering if he needed anything. He decided to walk home while he waited for Sherlock to reply, just in case he had to pick something up. 

Sherlock drifted to sleep and dreamt about John. They were kissing in the back of a cab. When he woke up, it felt like it had been a nice dream. His phone vibrated and he reached for it.

_No, I'm good. See you soon. SH_

He got off the bed, straightened himself out and went into the bathroom. He splashed a little water on his face and then looked in the mirror and messed with his hair a bit. Then he put the kettle on, setting out two mugs for their tea.

John put his phone away and picked up his pace a bit to get home faster. When he walked in he smiled when he saw the tea. "I'm home!"

"I'm glad," Sherlock said, moving over to the sofa and setting down the two mugs. "I've been very bored."

John smiled, sitting close to him and taking his tea. "I was thinking about taking you to the little Italian place, as this is a proper date," he said. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "Do I have to get dressed up?"

"Your usual stuff is fine. You always look dressed up and nice," he smiled. 

"Thanks," Sherlock said, his face reddening a little from the compliment. "You look pretty, too," he added before taking a sip of tea.

John smiled stupidly and went back to his own tea. "I'd like to shower properly before we go, but we have some time. Is there anything you want to do before?"

"Um . . . is there something I should do? What do you normally do before besides messing with your hair and trying on ten different outfits?" Sherlock asked, smiling.

John threw him a stern look before smiling again. "I just meant if you wanted to watch a film or go for a walk or something until it's closer to date time," he explained. "I won't take you anywhere if you keep being mean to me," he teased.

"Too late, you already promised," Sherlock said, getting up. "I want to check my email again -- I was lying down reading for most of the afternoon. Why don't you go get yourself all dolled up nice while I do that and then maybe we can walk to dinner?" He threw a pillow at John as he moved over to his desk.

John grunted dramatically and fell over, grinning and sticking his tongue out when Sherlock looked over. "Fine. I will go take a shower and attempt to impress you with my outfit," he smiled.

"Please do," Sherlock responded. "Don't forget I've watched you get ready for other dates. I expect you to put in at least an equal effort for this one, if not more."

"Even more because I love you," John said, and then he quickly retreated up to the bathroom.

Sherlock glanced up at the comment, but John was gone. The response that it has caused in Sherlock's body was warmth again, like the cuddling, but then his logical brain kicked in and he felt a little worried. If John loved him, the eventual disappointment would be a thousand times worse. He tried to shake that thought out of his head.

John stepped into the shower and properly processed what he had just said. He hoped it wasn't too much -- he felt so nervous about saying the wrong thing or doing too much and sending this all crashing to the ground. This was like no other relationship he had been in -- he certainly knew Sherlock better than most of the women he'd dated. Their friendship was the most important to him, and he wanted this all to work out nicely for both of them. After he showered he hurried into his room and looked through all the the clothes he had, and then he looked through it a second time. He pulled on a pair of dark jeans that he hadn't worn in a while, a dark green button up and grey jumper. He looked at himself, tilted his head, and then fussed his hair a bit. He was nervous and it made him smile -- it was a bit silly but he couldn't help it. When he walked back downstairs he tried to do it with an air that nothing was different. 

"I don't remember those trousers," Sherlock said. "Are they new? Have you secretly gone out and bought a whole new outfit for our date?" He stood up from his desk and stretched a little, swallowing down the last of his now cold tea.

John flushed lightly and smoothed his hands over the thighs a bit. "I just haven't worn them in a while." He moved back towards the stairs, thinking of what else he could put on instead. 

"You look handsome, John," Sherlock said. "You're putting me to shame. The people at the restaurant will wonder why a handsome doctor like yourself is running round with a scruff like me." He smiled over at him. "Shall we go then?"

"Shut up," John said quietly, shaking his head. "You look handsome too. I thought you didn't like this," he added, feeling silly about it now. "Let's just go before I make a complete arse of myself," he smiled. 

"I like everything you wear," Sherlock said. "Well, most everything -- some of the jumpers are of questionable taste, but I suppose I still kind of like that you like them. I don't know what I'm saying. Come on, let's go." He slipped his coat and scarf on and headed out the door.

John followed him out and then hailed a cab, opening the door for Sherlock before giving the address. "I hope you like the restaurant. It's small like Angelo's but a bit more . . . fancy, I suppose. It's nice," he smiled. 

"Have you brought me a corsage?" Sherlock asked. He reached over and touched John's leg lightly. "I'm just teasing you. It's all right to do something different. I didn't mean we couldn't. After all, things are different now, aren't they?"

"They are, but I just want you to like this place, to like what we're doing," John said. He touched Sherlock's hand and held it as the cab pulled up. "Come on," he said after paying, leading the way up to the restaurant. 

Sherlock let John lead him into the restaurant which was definitely fancier than the places they normally went. He let John speak to the maitre'd. He held onto John's hand as they waited.

"Should I order for you again?" John smiled, looking over at him as they were taken to a table. He looked over the wine list before passing it to Sherlock. "You know about this better than me."

"Choose that one," Sherlock said, pointing to a mid-range red. "It's got the prettiest name," he added and winked. "Just choose something good for me that you think I might like which isn't too big or expensive since there's a relatively good chance I might not eat much. Also, why don't you let me pay for dinner tonight since you paid last night?"

"But it was my idea, and the last one wasn't exactly a proper date," John said. "Why don't you get the next one?" John ordered the wine and food for the both of them, smiling over at Sherlock.

"All right," Sherlock said. "That's a rather confident strategy, don't you think? What if I ruin this date and you never want to go out with me again?" he said smiling.

"You would have to try very, very hard to do that," John said. "I hope that you won't and you'll want to go on a hundred more dates."

"I don't plan to ruin anything, John," Sherlock said, as the wine arrived. He took a quick sip. "I hope I don't."

"Then you won't," John said happily. He sipped at his own wine, which was very nice. "This was a good choice, Sherlock." 

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. "Was work okay?"

"Yeah. A bit busier than I expected for a short shift, but it was okay," he said. "So no cases yet. Maybe tomorrow? I don't work tomorrow," he added. 

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "Or we could just do more cuddling tomorrow."

John smiled stupidly because he was sure Sherlock had just admitted he'd rather cuddle with John than go on a case. "Yeah, we could," he said finally, sipping more wine. "I would like that."

"Is it too much? I don't want you to think it's too much," Sherlock said. He really had no idea how these things were supposed to go.

"No! No, Sherlock, it's perfect. I'm just smiling because you would rather cuddle with me than solve a case. Its really nice," he admitted. 

"Well, there are no cases anyway," Sherlock said. "I just mean, don't get too full of yourself, handsome." He reached his glass over and clinked John's lightly.

John took another big sip. "Even if there was a case you would just cuddle with me," he teased. The food came and John sat back, admiring his dish and looking at Sherlock hopefully. "What do you think?"

"Possibly," Sherlock said. He looked at the food. "It smells nice but there's so much of it," he said, taking a small bite. "Yes, it tastes nice. Nicer than Angelo's actually but we probably shouldn't mention that to him. Yours taste okay?"  
  
"No, that will be our little secret," John smiled. "Mine is good as well. We can take the extra home and have it for lunch tomorrow -- don't worry about that." He poured more wine for the both of them, taking another sip as he started to eat. 

"I thought we were cuddling tomorrow -- now you're saying we have to have lunch as well? I don't know that we can get both those things in, John," Sherlock said. He took another sip of wine and then wondered if perhaps it was having a little more effect than he'd been expecting.

"Well, we will take a break from cuddling. I can't filter feed like you do," John teased.

"And don't you think all that cuddling will make you want . . . other things?" Sherlock asked, now a little more serious.

"Maybe. But I can control myself. Would you . . .well, what would you want me to do?"  John asked, mixing his food around.

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said quietly, looking down at his plate. "Can we just say cuddling for now?"

John nodded. "Yeah, of course," he said. He went back to eating his meal, finishing it off and drinking more of the wine. He wondered if Sherlock mentioned 'other things' if he meant John would do those things alone.


	4. A Small Show

After dinner, Sherlock suggested they walk home. He looped his arm through John's again as they made their way through the streets. Sherlock unlocked the flat's door and let John go in first. Once up in the flat, he said, "I was wondering if we could talk a little before any cuddling."

John hung his jacket, turning to look at Sherlock in the sitting room. He joined him, nodding. "Yeah, sure," he murmured. He sat down on the sofa and waited, gazing up at him.

"Could we go up to your room and talk . . . on the bed?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh! Yeah," John nodded, standing up again and taking his hand. He led the way up, shutting the door behind him. "I'm going to change into pajamas -- I should have asked you before if you wanted to change," he said.

"Can I sleep in here again?" Sherlock said, waiting for John's nod. "I'll go change then." He went into his bedroom, put on his pajamas and wrapped his dressing gown around him. He brought two glasses of water and set one on each of John's bedside tables. Then he lifted the covers and slid in. 

John changed while Sherlock was gone, thanked him for the water after draining half the glass, and then got comfortable with him under the covers. 

"Can you turn out the light?" Sherlock asked. Once John had, Sherlock said John's name softly and then rolled flat on to his back and looked up at the ceiling. "I feel like I need to tell you something."

John felt his stomach drop lightly. "Anything," he murmured, waiting quietly.

"I know you're thinking that as we get closer or I get more comfortable with the idea of being boyfriends, that I'll come around to the whole sex business," Sherlock said, realising his mouth felt so dry. He sat up and took a sip of water before lying back down and adding, "But I'm not so sure. I really liked the cuddling . . . it made me feel warm and nice. I thought about it today and it made me feel those things again. But it didn't make me feel . . ," he couldn't think of the precise word, " . . . excited, I guess. I mean, in that way."

"I know . . I mean I understand that you don't like that sort of thing. I was reading up and . . . and I know. It's okay, Sherlock." He shifted and stayed on his side of the bed -- didn't even reach for his hand at the moment, even though he really wanted to. "I'm trying," he said softly. "I want this to work, Sherlock."

"I tried, John," Sherlock said. "But I couldn't make the feeling happen . . . I know you say it's all right, but you'll miss it. I know it's important to you."

"I can do it alone. I can do it here or away from here," John bit his lip, staring into the dark. "I really do love you and I want you to be comfortable . . . comfortable with me." 

"Do what? Like sex stuff?" Sherlock said. "To me? Or to yourself?" He was extremely glad the room was dark.

"To myself. I know you don't like that sort of thing," John said quietly.

"What would I do -- while you were doing it?" Sherlock said. His mind was trying to imagine all this, but it was struggling to.

"I..." John trailed off and tried to imagine it. It was hard putting himself in Sherlock's place -- hard imagining no sexual desire at all. "I suppose you would just watch . . . unless you wanted to touch or help . . .I wouldn't expect you to," he added. 

"Do you think maybe I've been doing it wrong? I guess if I watched you . . . but is it too private? I feel like I shouldn't but . . . I guess I'm curious . . . and nervous," Sherlock admitted.

"Normally it would be private but . . .well, sex is still getting off, just with someone else. This time only one of us will be getting off, but we could still do it together," John said. He took a slow breath. "I've never done this before -- wanked with someone there just watching. I'm nervous too."

"If you don't want to, that's okay," Sherlock said.

John glanced over at him. "Do you mean now?" He asked quietly.

"I guess I meant tonight . . . after some cuddling. Would that be okay? You don't have to, but could we at least cuddle?" Sherlock asked, turning a bit to face John.

"Yeah we can," John nodded. "Then we can just see how things go. Do you want to be behind me this time?"

"All right, let's try that," Sherlock said, scooting to curl around John. He slid one arm around John's waist and held John's hand. "I'm taller than you," he said before he realised how silly that sounded.

John scooted back and settled comfortably against Sherlock. He laced their fingers and smiled. "You are," he murmured. "We fit well this way."

"Are you trying to imply this was meant to be?" Sherlock said softly. His face was close to John's back and his fingers moved lightly over John's.

"Maybe," John said quietly. He shivered lightly as Sherlock's breath hit his back. He was warm and comfortable. 

Sherlock lay there quietly, feeling John's breath and the way his back and shoulders moved ever so slightly with each inhale and exhale. It was strange they had never been this physically close before when it felt so nice.

"Will you tell me about what you tried before?" John asked after a bit. He was curious and couldn't stop thinking about what it may have looked like.

"Just wanking," Sherlock said. "I have done it before -- mostly when I was younger so I'm pretty sure I know how it works . . . it's just that it doesn't do anything for me. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. I just wondered," John said. He squeezed Sherlock's hand lightly. "Has anything ever aroused you? I hope you don't mind my asking. I'm just trying to understand."

"I don't think so . . . not in the way you mean, I think," Sherlock said. "I mean, obviously I've had erections and orgasms before but . . . it's just my body, not my brain."

John nodded, trying to imagine it. Bodies were made to react to stimuli but for something like this, if he wasn't enjoying it . . . well, it was hard to picture. "Sherlock? I'm thinking about you wanking and it's . . . well, I feel a bit warm."

"Should I stop touching you?" Sherlock asked. "What should I do?"

"I don't want you to stop, but I'll understand if you want to," John murmured.

"I don't think I want to stop," Sherlock said. He squeezed John a little more tightly to prove it.

John nodded. He slipped his free hand into his trousers, palming himself through his pants. "Tell me if you change your mind," he said, closing his eyes to imagine what he wished they were doing together, imagining it was Sherlock's hand.

"Okay," Sherlock whispered. He closed his eyes and listened to John's breathing and sensed the changes in his body. He tried to picture what was happening. He moved his hand to rest on John's hip.

John imagined Sherlock's hand, but also his mouth.  Kissing him, his neck, his chest . . . he heard himself moan softly and he tensed, hoping it wasn't too much. He pushed his pants down, sighing as he was exposed to the air and stroking more easily now.

"John," Sherlock whispered even though he wasn't quite sure why. He'd never experienced anything like this before -- even when he himself had masturbated, it hadn't seemed like this at all. He kept himself entirely still: he didn't want to participate but he didn't want John to think it was upsetting him. It wasn't.

John paused, taking a deep breath. "All right?" he asked, stroking softly.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered. His mouth was dry again so he swallowed. "Keep going."

John nodded and picked up his stroking again, whimpering softly. He imagined them taking their clothes off, their bare bodies touching, pushing into Sherlock's body or even Sherlock pushing into his body. "Sherlock . . . fuck," he moaned softly. He was close -- the heat was building and coiling tightly in his groin.    

"Are you going to have an orgasm, John?" Sherlock whispered. "You can . . . it's okay." He was paying attention to everything John's body was doing.

That must have been the least sexy way to phrase the question and yet the effect on John was phenomenal. He gasped and moaned Sherlock's name loudly, coming into his hand and a bit on the edge of the bed. He worked himself through it, pressing back against Sherlock until it was over. He slowly let go, wiped his hand on the sheets and tried to catch his breath as he pulled his pajama bottoms up.

Sherlock moved away a little, rolling more onto his back. He looked up at the ceiling again. He felt like he wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say so for a moment he said nothing. Then he finally said, "Did you like that?"

"It was odd," John said quietly, turning on his own back. "But I liked sharing it with you. Are you okay?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. He turned his head towards John. "Thanks for sharing it with me."

John looked over at him and smiled softly. "Yeah," he nodded. "I'll clean the sheets tomorrow."

"I don't know what else to say," Sherlock said. "It feels like this is a big thing, and I feel like I should say something, but I don't know what to say."

"It's okay -- you don't have to say anything," John assured him. He reached over and held his hand. 

"Are we going to go to sleep?" Sherlock asked, turning properly and curling around John again.

"Yeah," John murmured, settling comfortably with him. It was still a bit odd to him, but it was nice being with him.

Sherlock pressed against John. "We haven't kissed tonight," he said. "It's okay, but I just wanted to mention it." 

"Oh, Sherlock . . . we can whenever you want," John said quietly.

"Will you kiss me good night then?" Sherlock asked softly.

John shifted and pressed a kiss to his mouth, touching his cheek softly. He felt sad suddenly and wished he knew how to show Sherlock how much he really felt for him.


	5. Reassurances

After the kiss, Sherlock pressed his face against John's shoulder. This was all so new and different and confusing. He didn't want it to stop, but he still couldn't understand it yet, and that was an uncomfortable feeling for Sherlock Holmes. However, he was so grateful it was John who was next to him. "Thank you," he said softly.

John kissed his head again before settling comfortably again. It was difficult to get to sleep. Guilt gnawed at his stomach for most of the night, the small voice in the back of his head telling him what a bad idea this was. He was forcing Sherlock into a relationship he didn't want for his own selfish feelings. He slipped into difficult dreams where Sherlock kept trying to leave him and John kept bribing him to stay with new science equipment. He woke up feeling tired and worried. He looked over at Sherlock and wondered if they should stop, if things could go back to normal. But there was no way John could go out on dates now even if they broke up. He looked at the ceiling and tried to shut his brain off.  

Sherlock did his best to not think -- not question and definitely not worry. It was good lying by John, and he didn't want his anxiety to ruin that. It was difficult, but he tried so hard: for John and for himself. He did like this, he did like being close like this. He didn't want to ruin it.

Eventually Sherlock fell asleep. When he woke up in the middle of the night, he was glad he was where he was -- he liked the smell of John's bed, the sounds of John next to him. He fell back to sleep again.

John touched Sherlock's hair very softly, tracing his cheek even more lightly. Worried he would wake him, he pulled his hand back and looked at the ceiling again. He didn't know how to make Sherlock happy and it was awful. This is the thought he finally fell to sleep with.

When Sherlock woke up again, he could see the light peeking in behind the curtains. He turned on his side and looked at John sleeping. He was so handsome and good and had brought so much that was nice into Sherlock's world. Even the sentiment -- it was hard for Sherlock to admit, but he was glad he could feel this way about John. And now the closeness as well . . . it was all a bit scary because it was new. But it was all good.

He lifted his hand and drew a soft line down John's nose and over his lips to his chin. Then he blew on John's face a little. "Are you awake?" he asked, despite knowing very clearly he was not.

John's nose twitched and then he blinked his eyes open. "I'm awake," he murmured, focusing on Sherlock's face. He smiled softly. "I didn't sleep very well," he admitted.

"Why not?" Sherlock said. "Was it me? I normally toss and turn -- but I felt like I slept well. Did I hog the bed? I'm sorry." He moved away a bit. "Should I get up and let you sleep on your own for a bit?"

"No, no. I'm okay now. I just had bad dreams, that's all," he said.

"Why didn't you wake me up if you were having a nightmare? You know I don't mind," Sherlock said. He sat up and leaned back against the headboard.

John turned on his side and shrugged. He didn't want to tell Sherlock what he was dreaming about. "It wasn't too bad," he insisted. "Sherlock . . . are you happy with what we're doing?" He asked quietly, playing with the bed sheet.

"You mean the cuddling? Are you tired of it?" Sherlock said. He pulled the covers up around him a little.

"I'm asking you, Sherlock. I feel like . . . I feel like I'm forcing you to indulge me," he admitted quietly.

"You know me well enough, don't you -- would I do something I didn't want to do? You know I'm not that selfless." Sherlock tried to make a little smile.

John glanced up and considered that. "I'm having a hard time making you as happy as I feel when we're together. I know that doesn't do it for you and... and I don't know what to do." He looked down again, picking at the sheet again.

"What are you talking about, John? You always make me happy. Except when you annoy me, I mean, but since the day we met, you've mostly made me happy. Why don't you know that?" Sherlock pulled the blankets up even further and stared intently at them. "Is it just because you want us to have sex? Is that the only way I can prove it to you?"

"No. I feel like . . . I don't know. I don't know what's okay and not okay. You ask me for kisses and I hate that you don't know I want to give them to you all the time. I hate that I can't think of anything to show my love besides physical things. I hate that I'm asking you for things that make you uncomfortable, just to feel good myself." He knew he was rambling, but his dreams were on the edge of his mind.

"John, stop talking for a second," Sherlock said calmly. "Take a deep breath and promise me you'll listen when I speak without thinking of what you want to say next. Promise?"

"I'll try," John said quietly.

"I know things are different, but I think you're forgetting a couple things. When you've been out with people before, did you automatically kiss them all the time, even if you wanted to? Did you have sex with them whenever you felt like it? I'm guessing you did not. I know our situation isn't the same, I know it's much more . . . unusual, but please don't only focus on one aspect of it. All new relationships need negotiating. That's the first thing I wanted to say." His mouth was dry again so he reached over and took a sip of the water still sitting on the bedside cabinet.

"The second thing I wanted to say is don't be daft. You show your feelings to me in a million different ways. Even just tolerating this unusual situation shows me your feelings. So just stop being a numpty about that. Lastly, I don't know what's been going on in your head -- maybe in your mind you've been asking for sex things, but you've not actually verbalised any of that, you know. You've not actually asked me for anything that makes me feel uncomfortable. If you do, we'll figure that out."

He stopped talking and reached over for John's hand. "Our differences make this all unusual, but you said you wanted to try. Please . . . I don't want to stop trying just yet."

John squeezed his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles hard. "M'not a numpty," he grumbled, looking up at Sherlock. He sighed heavily and nodded. "I won't stop trying," he promised.

Sherlock smiled a little. "John, is not having sex going to be too difficult, do you think? Is it that important?"

John looked down at his hand. "Yes. It's important because I've learned . . . no, I mean I _feel_ it, Sherlock, I do want it. I love you so much, feel so strongly for you, that it overwhelms me and I want more. I want to get closer -- as close as possible." He paused and signed softly. "I also love you enough to know that that's not going to work this time. That I'm going to have to relearn . . . get used to showing my love differently."

"I'm sorry, John -- I wish I could offer you what you're used to. You have offered me so much that I never thought would be a part of my life. But maybe we could just focus on the things we can -- and do -- give each other." He squeezed John's hand. "I was okay with what happened last night, it was . . . more than okay because we shared it and I've never shared that with anyone before. That means something, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does," John nodded. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled.

"Do you have to go to work today?" Sherlock asked. "Do we have to get out of bed right now?"

John shook his head. "Day off today." He lay on his back and smiled up at Sherlock.

Sherlock slid back down and turned on his side. "What are we going to do then?"

"Anything you want," John said. "Cuddling, watching telly, a walk, a picnic..."

"A picnic? John Watson, have you forgotten to whom you are speaking? Do I really look like the picnic type?" Sherlock asked.

John grinned. "At least I have ideas."

"I have ideas," Sherlock said, pouting.

"Please share," John encouraged. 

"You could do your sex thing again," Sherlock said quietly. "But you could let me see more."

John flushed lightly. "See more?" He asked, even though he knew what Sherlock meant. Or he thought he did. Daylight -- it would be even more intimate than the dark last night

"I just thought . . . maybe I could see what exactly you're doing," Sherlock said. "But we don't have to. It might be asking too much. I'm sorry."

"No it's . . . it'll be okay," John murmured. He shifted on the bed a bit, turning a bit away like last night, and tugged his pajama pants off. "I need to get started... usually it's foreplay but that's not the case now so I-I'll need to think about things that get me excited," he explained.

"Will you tell me what you're thinking or is that too private?" Sherlock asked. He lay flat on his back and closed his eyes, not sure how exactly this was going to play out.

John licked his lips, palming lightly through his pants. "I'm thinking about us kissing, but it's more. It's heated and hard . . . and when we break to breath, we can't stand the pause so you move to kiss my neck, sucking and biting softly. It feels good." He palmed harder, feeling himself growing harder.

Sherlock took a slow breath. He hoped this was going to be okay. He was kind of surprised John had shared so easily and wasn't quite sure what to make of his own role in John's imagination. But he was still curious. "Tell me when I can open my eyes," he said, not really realising he was whispering.

"Do you mind being in the story? I don't want to use a stranger," John said quietly. His hand slowed as if he was doing something wrong again. Sherlock had suggested it . . .why wasn't he watching now?

"I don't mind," Sherlock said because he really didn't. After all, it wasn't really happening -- John was just thinking about it -- and in a way that was kind of a nice idea to Sherlock. "Should I open my eyes? I don't know what you want to keep private."

"You asked. I thought you wanted to see," John murmured. He started palming again.

"I do," Sherlock said. "Here, stop, scoot over," he said, pulling him back towards the middle of the bed. Then he stood up and walked round the bed, lying down facing John. "Fine, now I can see," he said, even though he wasn't looking down but up at (and kind through) John's face. "Okay," he said quietly. "You can continue." He rested a hand on John's hip and watched his face.

John gazed at Sherlock, pushing his own pants down and stroking properly. "I imagine that you kiss down my chest and belly. I imagine your mouth on me, with my hands in your hair."

Sherlock took slow breaths. "You could put your hand in my hair, if you want," he whispered. He tipped his head a little and looked down, watching John stroking himself. What he was doing was what Sherlock had done to himself in the past, but it was having a much different effect on John. He kept watching, wondering if it'd have any effect on him.

John reached out with his free hand and gripped Sherlock's hair. He was leaking and he used that to twist his hand a bit. "I would . . . do it to . . .suck you into my mouth and . . ." he trailed off with a small whine, swallowing hard. "I would tell you how much I want you -- want you inside me." He forced his eyes open and was a bit surprised to see Sherlock not doing anything. He couldn't wrap his mind around it.  He closed his eyes again and focused.

Sherlock liked the feel of John's fingers in his hair. He watched and listened. John looked quite beautiful like this: pleasure washing over him. He was so at ease, so honest, and Sherlock was glad John was sharing this with him. "What does it make your body feel?" he asked in a whisper.

John whimpered at the soft words. "Warm and full -- fuck," he broke off, coming suddenly into his hand. He was making small sounds and repeating Sherlock's name, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sherlock watched as John's orgasm affected everything in John's body -- his voice, his breathing, the temperature and colour of his skin. He took a deep breath and lifted his hand from John's hip to touch John's cheek softly. "Thank you for letting me watch you," he said. "Are you okay?"

John nodded, breathing a bit heavily. "Made another mess," he said with a small smile.

"Don't be embarrassed," Sherlock said. "I liked watching you . . . thank you." He looked over and smiled softly but sincerely.

John smiled. "I'm glad you like sharing that with me," he murmured.

"I wish it made me feel like it makes you feel," Sherlock whispered. "But it didn't . . ." He pressed his head against John's chest to snuggle him.

"That's okay, love. I just want...I want you to be happy." John pet his hair, wrapping an arm around him.

"And I want you to be," Sherlock said, letting John cuddle him back. They lay there quietly for a little while. "Maybe we should get up," Sherlock said eventually. "At least for a cup of tea?"

"Yeah," John said shifting. "Will you start the tea while I clean up?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. He stood up and went downstairs, stopping into the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and then looked at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He turned on the kettle, nipped to get his dressing gown, and then went back to the kitchen to pour the tea. Suddenly, he realised that he probably should have given John a kiss when they were lying down. That would have been the right thing to do, but he hadn't done it.

John got up and put his pajamas on properly, changing the sheets and putting new ones on. He put the dirty ones in the hamper and went down to the kitchen to find Sherlock.

Sherlock took the two mugs of tea over to the sofa and sat down. "Come sit here with me," he said. "I should have given you a kiss before and I didn't and I'm sorry." It came out a little more abruptly than he'd meant it to, but he felt like he wanted to say it.

John was moving over to the sofa when he heard what Sherlock was saying. He didn't want to remind him that there were no rules and he could do anything he wanted again so he simply smiled and sat close to him, tilting his face up for a kiss.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John's cheek. "I like the things we share, John," he said honestly. "I know they're not usual for either of us -- I've never had any of this and you usually have more -- but I like them and I hope you do as well."

"Yeah, I do," John nodded. He took a sip of his tea. "We've always been different," he smiled. 

"I suppose we have," Sherlock said. "And now we're just a new different." They sat and drank their tea on the sofa. Then Sherlock decided it was time for him to actually start the day. He headed into the bathroom for a shower. "I'll do a bit of work for a while, yeah, check if there are cases and then maybe later we could meet on the sofa for . . . you know," he called as he made his way to his bedroom to get some clothes.

John smiled. "Yeah, I know. I'm going to nip to the shop really quick and I'll be back, okay?" He stood up and stretched, heading for his room to get clothes.

"Do you want to get food or do we have some, for later, I mean? We can't go out every night," Sherlock said. "My wallet's on my dresser if you want some money," he added before he disappeared into the bathroom.

John thought about it and knew Sherlock was right -- they couldn't keep eating out. There were leftovers still but maybe he could cook something up. He browsed at the store and got some things to make. He knew Sherlock didn't care what but he liked asking anyways. He made his way back, putting everything away.

When Sherlock got out of the shower, he moved over to his desktop and read through his email. There was a couple possible clients -- he took notes to get John's opinion when he returned. Then he read the news.

When John came back, Sherlock smiled at him. "Some cases maybe . . . while you put the things away, I'll make some tea and then maybe we can take a look together."

"All right," John smiled. "I wanted your opinion on dinner -- salmon and potatoes or chicken parmesan?"

"Whatever you want is good for me," Sherlock said. "Chicken, I guess?"

"Chicken, it is," he said. "Show me your cases."

Sherlock led John over to his desk, and they spent some time talking about each case's possibilities and whether it'd be worth the time or effort to take them. Despite everyone knowing about Sherlock's powers of deduction, the truth was John was quite good as well, and after a few hours, Sherlock was relatively sure they had the solutions to a couple without even having spoken to the client.

"I'll get in touch with the first three," Sherlock said, feeling quite chuffed by the whole thing. "Do you want to start dinner?"

"Yeah, it shouldn't take long," he said. He went to the kitchen and got to work, glad he could help Sherlock with his cases. When he was finished he called Sherlock to the table, smiling at the plates. "Not too bad, huh?"

Sherlock sent off a few emails, requesting meetings over the next few days. He moved over the table but before sitting down, he opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "Thanks for making dinner," he said as he set the glasses on the table and sat down.

"Yeah, of course," John smiled. "Hopefully you like it."

They ate their dinner -- well, Sherlock ate _some_ dinner -- and then they did the washing up together. "Should we watch a film or something?" Sherlock suggested. "We could you know on the sofa while we did." He really had no idea why he kept saying 'you know' but it was like he couldn't really stop himself. 

"Yeah," John smiled. "But you can't say 'you know' anymore because that could be two things now." 

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, a little panic in his voice. "Oh, do you mean cuddling and your sex stuff? I don't think the sex stuff should happen on the sofa, John. As you yourself said, you get messy." He made a little smile as he tried to get comfortable.

John grinned. "All right, fair point."

"Are you going to come cuddle me or not?"

John grinned hearing the word. "Yeah, I'm coming," he said.

Sherlock waited for John to sit down and then he curled a bit around him, flopping his legs onto John's lap. "This okay?" he said. "Do you have the remote? What are we going to watch?" 

"This is great. And let's see what's on," John said, flipping through the channels.

Sherlock stroked John's shoulder. He didn't really pay attention to the television, just agreeing to what ever John chose. After a little while, though, his legs started to cramp a little and he shifted. "My legs hurt," he said. All of a sudden he noticed the television. "What is this show anyway? It's boring."

"I'm not sure exactly -- something about the planets. Are you more comfortable now?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, pouting a bit. "Is it almost over? I want to go to bed." Sherlock was glad John still let him pout. "My room tonight, please," he added, standing up and stretching.

"Yeah? Okay," John smiled, putting the mess in the sink before following.

"Pajamas, please, John," Sherlock said. "Come on now -- think with your brain now." He pulled a face and went into his room to put his own pajamas on.

"I forgot! And there's nothing wrong with sleeping in just my pants," John teased as he left to change.

Sherlock climbed into the bed and sat waiting for John. He felt a little anxious but tried to remember that that was probably normal.


	6. Sherlock's Way

When John came back into the room, Sherlock said, "I have an idea."

John raised his brows a bit but continued getting into bed. "Okay," he said cautiously.

"You're not going to have an orgasm from it, I'm afraid," Sherlock said, trying to lighten the mood and then wishing he hadn't said it. "Um, lie down first." He reached over and turned off the lamp and then slid down and turned on his side to face John. "Comfy?" he asked awkwardly.

John nodded, smiling softly at him. "I'm comfortable. Are you?"

"Mostly," Sherlock said. "Um, you know how normally when you have these kinds of feelings about someone you want to do sex things with them? But I'm not like that so you had to do your own sex thing by yourself?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," John nodded. He wondered where this was going, but he waited patiently.

"Well, I can't show you what I normally do when I have these feelings about someone because I've never had them before," Sherlock said. He swallowed. "You're the first one ever, John. So I thought, maybe I could try to show you how it feels to me. But it will only work if you try really hard not to . . . have sex thoughts. Will you promise to try? I won't be mad if you do -- I know it's natural for you, just like it's natural that I didn't have sex thoughts even when you were . . .you know. But I thought maybe you could just try so you could see how I really feel. What do you think?"  
  
"I promise to try," John promised. He shifted a bit and took a deep breath to relax, waiting for what would come next.

"Lie flat on your back and listen. I might have to touch a bit but you try not to do anything, okay?" Sherlock said. He scooted over a little closer to John. "Imagine this. You have always been on your own. You like being on your own. Other people . . . they annoy you or hurt you. That's why you don't like being around other people. It's mostly okay on your own, but sometimes . . . you admit you are a little lonely. That's how I was, John. Before you." His voice was whispering. "When we met, I didn't know what or how but I knew you'd mean something to me. And I was right. And it wasn't long before I had feelings for you, feelings I couldn't make words for, feelings I tried not even to think about because they were new and confusing. I wanted you around me all the time, I didn't want you to give attention to anyone else. I couldn't explain it to myself so obviously I couldn't explain it to you so I just pouted until you came back home to me. And I thought maybe that's all there'd be. Perhaps not ideal, but it was the closest I'd ever felt to another human being." He paused and swallowed. "Still with me?" he asked.

"I'm still with you," John whispered. His eyes started to fill a little, but he blinked hard so he wouldn't embarrass himself. His body was warm, but it was different than being aroused. It was softer.

"When you said you wanted to be my boyfriend, it scared me because all I could think about was letting you down. But in my heart, John -- I do have one -- in my heart, everything was warm and safe. Even though I still want you to be around me all the time, now I know we'll never really be apart. You're always with me now and I realised it was love. That's what I'd been feeling all the time: love for you. And when we cuddled, when we were physically close, it just proved it all. It made my whole body feel warm and I felt like laughing and crying and squeezing you and never letting you go." He stopped for a minute and lifted a hand to hold John's. "My body doesn't feel everything yours does, but this love fills my whole body and makes it warm and soft like I could sink into the feeling and be held by it and never feel alone again. It's in my whole body, John, but most importantly . . ." he pulled their hands to his chest, ". . . it's in here. And it's good and it makes me . . . happy. You make me happy." He lifted their hands and kissed John's fingers lightly before lying down flat on his back next to John. "That's what it's like for me."

A small sound escaped John's throat, and he covered his mouth with his free hand. He had never expected to hear anything so lovely about himself and especially not out of Sherlock. All the little doubts in his head disappeared, and he felt the things Sherlock had described. He felt the warmth and he felt his heart swelling and he couldn't say anything. He turned and curled into Sherlock's side, burying into his chest and trying to control his breathing which was still a bit ragged. He didn't feel aroused -- he just wanted to be close. Impossibly close.

Sherlock held John. "Thank you for giving me all these feelings, John," he whispered and put a kiss on his head. He closed his eyes and knew that what filled his body was love and that was more important than any difference between them. 

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock and held his tightly. "I love you so much, " he murmured against his side.

"I love you too, John," Sherlock said. He did and it was the best feeling he'd ever known.


End file.
